Some words and lies

This I say to you

In the sad guise of a verse I know you'll never read

I don't keep promises I don't make.
You have to understand...

And not be petulant about imagined unrealities

Sometimes I am tired too

And all the world is not about you

And try to understand - yes, I am avoiding you

I like my bleakness and my oblivion

And my dark shadows are shelters

I need to hide and I need to shield

The secrets I can't reveal

Some things are better not stirred

Some words are best not said

So, yes, I am a coward and I will refrain

From speaking out when you are vain

And sometimes, when you act out of hand

I will sigh and laugh it off

As a charm and when

I die some more inside

I hope you never see me cry

I don't want to explain sometimes

I just want the loneliness

And no reasons to answer why

I think that's why I lie...

I hope you're happy, I wish you well

And it doesn't have to be me you tell

I wish you all the best in life

Just let me be, just let me be.

So MAD with a supposed "friend"...

Drink with your eyes

Not like that

I don't share... I mean I share things (heck! I'll even give it away if you ask!) And I am empathetic... But I can't share feelings of my own... I can't share my personal space...
Not that anyone wants to share... not that anyone's asking... but my personal shit is mine and I will resolve it... or not.
I feel afraid of so many things- rational or irrational, of death, failure, even success... most of all, probably of dying alone... but I can't tell anyone how it hurts when it hurts... it's my cross to bear and no one else should have to lend their shoulder or their time...
Honestly, I am not asking you to solve my problems... but it'll be nice to know there's someone to listen... not help - just listen... just listen.

No cry- not this time

What sort of a 33 yr old cries on listening to a maudlin "sambhala hain maine" on the radio?

Answer: "The type of person who cried herself to sleep listening to these stupid songs years ago after a break up!"

Eww for then and for now... this has been a sad sad day on so many counts... but nothing so tragic as this one! :-P

Life's Lessons

All of you have busy lives, and I apparently have none. Thanks for letting me know exactly where I stand with you - nowhere.

Perverse Pleasure

A Style Of Loving

Light now restricts itself
To the top half of trees; 
The angled sun
Slants honey-coloured rays
That lessen to the ground
As we bike through
The corridor of Palm Drive
We two

Have reached a safety the years
Can claim to have created:
Unconsumated, therefore
Unjaded, unsated.
Picnic, movie, ice-cream; 
Talk; to clear my head
Hot buttered rum - coffee for you; 
And so not to bed

And so we have set the question
Aside, gently.
Were we to become lovers
Where would our best friends be? 
You do not wish, nor I
To risk again
This savoured light for noon's
High joy or pain. 

Leave soon and never return!

As distance and the days grow longer

As you move further away

As fewer traces linger and memories blur and pale

Your words are now mere references, your promises never true

Your touch is now imagined, as were your feelings too!

Your voice indistinct, and the recall vague...

I am happy that at last you ARE fading away... 

unwritten rules of the universe...

i am the one who doesn't get any!

Persepolis

A Favourite Book (as an animated movie)

Per-Verse Pleasure 3

The Cinnamon Peeler's Wife
Michael Ondaatje

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
– your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers…

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume.
and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in an act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me.